Then Prove It
by TJ-TeeJay
Summary: "Prove it, Peter Burke," Neal muttered as he pushed himself up to find a place where a cab could pick him up. "And then you'll find you won't be able to, because there's nothing to prove." PG-13, Gen, SPOILERS for 2x16 Under The Radar


**Title:** Then Prove It  
**Author:** TeeJay  
**Genre:** Gen  
**Characters:** Neal  
**Summary: **"Prove it, Peter Burke," Neal muttered as he pushed himself up to find a place where a cab could pick him up. "And then you'll find you won't be able to, because there's nothing to prove."  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Warning:** Spoilers for 2x16 "Under the Radar"  
**Author's Note:** I threatened I'd write this. So here it is.  
**Disclaimer: **White Collar, its characters and its settings belong to Jeff Eastin and USA Network. And, guys? Your characters are not only welcome, they're wonderful. I'm just borrowing, I promise.

* * *

_I think you did it._

The words reverberated in Neal's head—Peter's words. The look on his face, it spelled pure anger, accusation, distrust.

Neal had never felt so wronged in his life, nor cared so much about it. Peter's words, they'd been a punch to the gut, and then some. It had ignited a fireball of cold fury inside of Neal. "Then prove it," he'd spat out, and the disappointment and anger made his teeth clench after he spoke it.

With brisk steps, he walked away from Peter, turning around one last time to look at him. His expression was still frozen in a betrayed, enraged glare that stared daggers into Neal's back.

He kept walking, it didn't matter where or how long. Maybe fifty yards along the dock, maybe a hundred, and then he sat down on a wooden crate someone had left behind.

_I think you did it._

The long con, the one Peter talked about. Neal would have to lie if it hadn't occurred to him. But just as quickly as the idea had appeared, it had vanished again. Because Neal wasn't an idiot. He'd never get away with this.

There were risks associated with every con, and even though Neal liked to push the envelope, he had never in his life pulled anything that he wasn't reasonably sure he could get out of, get away with. Except maybe when he broke out of jail after Kate told him she was going to leave him. But that had been different. He hadn't been thinking clearly then. And he hadn't cared about what would happen to him.

He was thinking very clearly now, and he cared. Temptation and reason had chased each other in his mind all night, but the voice of reason (which sounded frighteningly like Peter Burke) had been louder, harsher, more convincing.

He knew Moz would berate him for it if he knew, telling him how he'd changed, how he was just one step short of succumbing to something as corrupted and easy to manipulate as the US justice system.

_I think you did it._

Deep down, that hurt, more than Neal would care to admit. He'd never lied to Peter, and he hadn't lied now when he told him he didn't steal the artwork. Peter's face lingered in his mind's eye, and Neal's eyes filled with red-hot tears of anger and injustice.

_Dammit, Peter, I didn't lie to you!_ Neal wanted to shout. What would it take for Peter Burke to believe him? What had _happened_ that Peter wouldn't believe him? This felt wrong, so very wrong.

He knew Peter to be nothing but fair. He'd given Neal the benefit of the doubt more than once. Hell, he'd even given him immunity for a night. Why? Why this now? What had changed?

He sat there for another long moment before he angrily wiped at the tears and got up. He'd learn soon enough. Because Peter was not the type who let things stew. He'd confront Neal eventually, probably sooner rather than later.

And Neal would be ready. He'd hold his head up high and brace himself against tide and tirade. Because he had nothing to fear. He was as innocent of this crime as he'd told Peter to his face.

"Prove it, Peter Burke," Neal muttered as he pushed himself up to find a place where a cab could pick him up. "And then you'll find you won't be able to, because there's nothing _to_ prove."

Little did Neal know that would change as soon as he entered his apartment to find something unexpectedly left behind on his dining table.

* * *

THE END


End file.
